


Administration

by DarkShadeless



Series: Long live the Emperor (whether he likes it or not) [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kinda, Marr is getting all his Life Day presents all at once, Sith being Sith, disorganization on an epic level, how, inquiring minds want to know, ish, long live the emperor, no one else is, people regretting their life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: The Empire looks back on a proud tradition of martial selection and limited oversight.It shows.





	Administration

**Author's Note:**

> This is out of control XD I promise I will get to your comments (I loved all of them <3 They give me such joy. Thank you!) just as soon as I can stop writing *falls over*

 

 

The trouble with an actually physically and mentally present Emperor is… he is… present. It’s possible a few of them have gotten used to a head of state that is, as they say, useful mostly as a place to stash your hat. Ornamental in nature.

And after Vitiate made his exit… (True to form, also ornamental in nature. That is not something they are aware of at this juncture though.)

No one would claim Marr was a figurehead but neither did he take on the role of an _Emperor_ anything but grudgingly. He could not give less of a damn about a Sphere that makes its best attempt at pretending something as close to competence as it can manage. As long as it wasn’t obviously shedding parts it was unbroken enough he had other things to worry about.

Honestly, who could blame him. These days it often seems half their Empire is on fire with the other half trying to douse the flames with engine fuel.

Any ruler would have enough problems without borrowing trouble.

If only someone could find the words to tell his newly elected Highness that.

 

 

“Lord Ravage, if I may ask,” Darth Nox very carefully does not wince. There is a burr in their former Wrath’s voice that his mask _almost_ swallows. Almost but not quite. Unless he is mistaken (HE ISN’T) that’s the sound of a generally level-headed man trying very hard not to _scream_. “What do you mean to tell me when you say _you don’t have progress reports_?”

Ravage, who seems to have problems remembering that the person he is speaking to actually outranks him, sneers reflexively. Yare is going to assume it’s a reflex because if it’s on purpose he is either braver than the twi’lek thought he was or just not that invested in his continued ability to breathe unassisted.

He’s still waiting for Yon’s spike in temper over his election to abate.

Seeing as said election was _three months ago_ and their beloved Emperor has yet to regain most of his (still occasionally pants-wettingly terrifying but) not actively murderous disposition, Nox is starting to suspect it might be a permanent feature.

Maybe it’s stress. Studies show high stress levels can lead to an increase in Dark Side supported feedback loops. He’s pretty sure he read a paper on that somewhere.

“Diplomacy is a fine art. You have my latest prognosis-“

“I have a _bullet point list_ of the planets you currently run missions on.”

Uh-oh. Made wise by three months of their former Wrath taking a hold of the power they had unwittingly handed him, turning around and using it to beat their ( _his_ ) Empire into shape makes Nox sink a little lower in his seat. Seeing as the only person in the room that outdoes him in sheer physical presence is Marr, who has taken off to regions unknown as soon as it became clear he can actually lead their fleets in battle again without some part of basic infrastructure imploding behind his back and is attending via holo, that’s not much of an improvement.

He’s still smarting over his own run-in with Emperor Sar, first of his name, and his unholy love affair with proper procedure.

 

(“Nox. _What is this_.”)

 

Yet unburned, what a fool he had been, he told the whole unvarnished truth. “My budget plan?”

Yeah, he’s not making that mistake again. It’s not his fault he grew up in a slave pen! Numbers weren’t even a thing for him until he was almost twenty! His budget was fine! It was- okay, it didn’t quite look like it should but he- he had done alright! He did research and everything! It’s not like he had anyone to show him how budgeting works!

… he’s trying not to think about what that must have done to his reputation. They’re all in the same boat here anyhow.

Not even Acina got out of revision without a reprimand for isolationist tendencies and obviation of progress. The Head of the Sphere of Technology. _Obviation of progress_.

The only one of them who isn’t nursing their pride is Mortis, who has somehow managed to become teacher’s pet by virtue of perfectly indexed tax reports and footnoted demographic spreadsheets. Yare finds he hates him a little bit for his organizational skills alone, never mind that he can apparently turn a credit over five times without breaking a sweat.

Just a little.

Seriously. Yon is a demon. He knows no fear, no mercy and no respect. If anyone thought his rational, hard-working approach to his duties as Wrath would translate to this new position… they were _perfectly right_ but might have, _possibly_ , underestimated his dedication. Or what form it might take.

 _Marr_ got his spikes polished just last week for overquoting on his prognosis of fuel costs, transportation and personnel requirements. ( _Marr, I will **end you**. **Amend your notations.**_ )

Okay, so maybe Nox felt more than a little vindicated over that but that’s his business and no one else’s. So are the subsidized climate controlled storage units his Excellency, Force forbid anyone call him that in his earshot, wrested from Vowrawn’s greedy paws and dropped in his lap. Only half of the funding he wanted but he got them. That’s the thought that kept him warm while he was licking his bookkeeping induced wounds.

It was creepy. Marr didn’t even _complain_. Actually, his assent sounded suspiciously choked. Nox maintains that was outrage because the alternative is unthinkable.

Their Emperor’s dulcet tones, hitting the perfect balance between treacherous calm and simmering fury, draw him out of his reverie. “ _Ravage_. **_Where is your paperwork_**?”

Oh dear.

 

 

It. It turns out Ravage doesn’t _keep_ paperwork. He… he doesn’t see the point.

For a moment there Yare is convinced he will witness their Emperor’s first in-House execution.

His Imperial Majesty leans back on his throne, stapling his fingers in front of him. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong,” All the quiescence that had evaporated with his inauguration is quite suddenly back and Nox wishes it wasn’t. The foreboding hanging over every syllable makes his lekku curl. “Do you wish to convey to me you have _no_ records of what your underlings are up to?”

Ravage probably _does_ , they all do to some degree even the worst of them, they have to. Whether those notes are presentable in a meeting of the full Dark Council is another matter _entirely_. You have to filter them for plotting first, at the very least.

Even their chief diplomat seems to slowly cotton on that he has gotten himself into hot water. How that man got his seat is anyone’s guess. “Your- your… _Grace_ ,” Anyone’s guess and not Yare’s, he has no idea. Is that supposed to be respectful? It sounds like he’s biting the honorific title in half.

Their Emperor, immortal or otherwise, tilts his head and in a moment of terrible clarity Yare is sure underneath his mask he _smiles_. The impression is so vivid it sets his heart racing in fear. Across from him Darth Malora hastily reorders her stack of forms for the sixth time.

It’s color-coded for navigation. Force preserve them.

In the expectant ( _horror-struck_ ) quiet Yon says, sweetly, “You are fired.”

“ _What_!”

What. Can he- Can he _do that_?

In that same tone one might expect from a Jedi expounding on fluffy clouds, peace and puppies, their overlord adds, “Arrest him.”

Mortis with more courage than sense and a faint tremble in his voice, glances between his speechless colleague and his Most Revered ruler, “My lord, if you’ll excuse… for what?”

Slowly, their Emperor turns to his minister of Laws and Justice. His head tilt grows more pronounced and something like saccharine approval washes over them like the candy-coated touch of death itself. “Gross incompetency and dereliction of duty. Make it so.”

Mortis swallows. “Yes, your Highness.”

“And give him to his successor for assistance in cross-referencing. Who is his successor?”

Should they know this. _Is one of them responsible for knowing this_? Dear gods, is it Nox? It’s not him is it?

Marr saves him from that line of thought. Even across a holo connection Yare would swear he is staring fixedly at a gaping Ravage, who is too stunned to fight the awkward hold the Imperial Guard has taken on him, as he proclaims in what Nox would swear borders on veneration, “Lord Serevin. Your Highness.”

“Wonderful. Someone tell him he is promoted and expected to detail his proposal for restructuration of the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy in front of this august body post-haste. He has **_two weeks_**.”

The assembled Dark Lords of the Sith shudder as one.

_We have created a monster._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please imagine 'Can he do that?' in John Mulaney's voice. I do.


End file.
